David and Solomon
by Black Beyond
Summary: The story of how Queen Serenity and the Ginzuishou came to be, through bloodbath and lust of power.


David and Solomon:  
The Story of How Queen Serenity and the Ginzuishou Came to Be

Soft Echo NR -----

Set: Ruins of the Moon Kingdom, in the time of Crystal Tokyo.

"The story begins in blood, and ends in light. This is the only record of a time erased, hidden forever in the mists of time and history. The ginzuishou was created first as a weapon, a weapon meant to slay and conquer the world, by a dark sorceress who came to be known as known as Arla, the Serene..."

Sailor Mercury sat up so quickly she hit her head on the small ledge above the vault. The royal libraries of the Moon Kingdom had been under escavation for some time now, and mostly all they had found were old, crumbling scrolls containing laws and protocols, with some small histories of each planetary kingdom. The information recovered thus far has been priceless, but scarcely rewarding. Most of what had been found was already inside her computer's databanks.

When the Neo-Queen Serenity had allowed Mercury to persue her mission to the old moon kingdom, no one really expected to find anything of real value. Their previous missions had claimed all the relics left by a thousand years of exposure, all the scrolls and books of better condition had already been removed and where now being restored back in Crystal Tokyo.

Mercury unrolled the scroll a bit more, marvelling at the pristine quality of the creamy cloth, covered with the spidery script of the Lunarians. This small vault, hidden behind a huge set of now crumbling marble shelves, had almost been missed. Something had drawn her back to it, and kept her working to unlock the ancient lock. She was rewarded by this scroll, and one other. They were completely ordinary, none of the golden caps and silver canisters that had concealed some of the scrolls found still in the underground libraries, but none of the others had been preserved this well.

None of them were as shocking as this. The origins of the ginzuishou?

"Arla's beginning was as the princess of a small earth kingdom. There was no life on the other planets of Sol, and sorcerers with powers rivaling the gods were still to be found on Earth. The gods themselves were different then, allowing themselves to be called by those with the knowledge to do so. Earth was a planet of blood and evil, the only true sanctuaries and places of learning being small temples held at piece by powerful priests. Arla the Serene, known then only as Arla, learned of a way to tap into the powers of the gods, of a way to create an object that could tap into the underlying streams and webs of magic that surround the universe. She became mad with the desire to have such a power, and left her crown and kingdom behind to discover how to obtain it..."

Mercury looked up, and saw that her workers were still absent, away in another part of the expansive labyrinth of rooms. She leaned against the side of one of the desentigrating shelves, unrolling the scroll after she made herself more comfortable. Her blue eyes began to loose their alertness as she became immersed with the story at her fingertips, a story that had not been known for centuries upon centuries...

00

The lady shrouded in white leaned over the table with a harrowed glare in her dark blue eyes, frowning at the scrolls of creamy papyrus before her. Several were filled with lines of the dark green ink that were painstakingly making their way down the one she stared at so intently, her gaze moving back and forth from one to the other. The edges of her sleeves were stained from her studies, and one lone green smudge rested on her temple, barely hidden by the fair locks that had long ago been released from their confines.

She stopped and stretched the fingers of her left hand, letting the quill fall to the table. Hours of research, her candles now burnt low, and she was no closer to her answer, no closer to the answer that had taken years from her life. She closed eyes bloodshot from countless, sleepless hours, and sipped at the glass of bitter, amber liquid one of the priests had left for her.

As though alerted by the break in her writing, the silence was broken by a single knock at the door. It opened, and as light suddenly broke the darkness, she was surprised to see that another night had slunk away from her. A lone priest, in his drab, homespun, hooded cloak stood, awaiting.

She ignored him for a moment, taking in the site of the niched walls, filled with thousands and thousands of scrolls not entirely unlike the ones that were spread over her rough worktable.

"Would the lady like to break her hunger?" His voice was a shock to her ears, and her eyes narrowed. With angry, short movements, she threw her stool back and stood, wincing only slightly at the pain that shot through her joints.

"The lady would." Her voice, in a better world, would have been an even, soft alto. Yet years of fruitless searching had sharpened it into one of her more formidible weapons; a harsh, sarcastic, biting voice that echoed her own mindset.

The priest inclined his head and left, leaving the door open. Ignoring the protests of joints being deprived of their prime, she followed. The heels of her shoes made empty, dull thuds down the arched corridors, and the heavy drape of the cloth made her appear shapeless, almost ghostly. Following behind the taller priest, she entered the kitchens and was assaulted once more by the smell of gruel and wine.

Accepting a bowl and cup, she looked towards the small table, placed out of the way of the cook and normally reserved for her use, and was angered to find it occupied.

She checked her anger, noting the brown cloak he wore was not one of the priests, but of a much finer texture. To make things more unusual, in this cathedral of masked faces and whispers, his hood hung carelessly down his back, and his long, auburn hair was unchecked over his shoulders. He was watching her, staring at her face behind the shadow of her own hood, swirling the water his own wooden cup held. His own face was unremarkable, brown eyes and symmetrical, almost handsome features, had she cared.

"Who the hell are you?" She spat, slamming her bowl and cup down on the small table. The cook took leave immediately, having already begged the stranger to leave before she arrived. He himself was much too cautious of the lady's ire to remain to witness the result of this offense.

"Your new friend, Arla." There was nothing especially insane about his face, or his manner, but he taunted death by taunting her, and she was not hesitant in informing him of this. She needed no weapon to snap his miserable neck.

He remained silent for a moment, distaste for her boldness absent from his face. He looked notably unmoved by her threat as he took a drink of water and changed his gaze to the shimmering violet lake outside the small window.

"You haven't figured out the key yet, have you?"

This made her stop, her face growing redder as her anger mounted. "What do you know of my quest, you dead fool? Who has sent you here?" She demanded, slapping his face as he began to laugh. Her hood slipped at her sudden movement, and her hair spilled down her back, sun-bright curls of gold and copper. Her face was revealed in detail to him for the first time, a petite, heart-shaped marvel of flawless, pale beauty. She made his own tanned skin look as dark as the workers', by comparison.

This sobered him. He glared back at her, irritation darkening his own eyes. "You stupid slut, do you behave like this to everyone who offers to help you?"

"I need no help, and for annoying me so, you shan't make this offer again." With one thin fist, she hit him, hard, in the chest, punching into the thick bone of his ribs with a crunch. He made a sick scream of pain, that was cut off abruptly as she broke his neck in one clean move.

Grabbing him by his hair, she shoved him to the floor before he could soil her seat, and stepping over him, sat down to eat her gruel.

She had only time to raise the spoon to her lips twice before she was interrupted yet again, by the sound of slow, deliberate applause.

A man stood, where she was sure no man had stood a few seconds before. He was dressed in the simple, plated black armor of the highest magic-users, and he praised her with cold, silver eyes.

"Now that you have shown a delightful lack of mercy, Arla, let me show you the way to the key you seek with such dedication."

She stood quickly, rage flying in crackling, invisible waves around her at being disturbed a second time, but when he banished her power with a wave of one covered hand, sending her flying back into the wall, this time... this time, she stood and listened.

00

The preparations were almost done.

Her hands did not tremble as she cut open the throats of the third child they had captured for the ritual. Three untainted souls had been required of the God to appear, and so, Magi had reasoned, why search for weeks when the youngest of any children would do?

The small girl fell forward, her face frozen for a moment in the terror of death. She hit the grooved floor with a sound that made Arla smile. The blood covered the floor, streaming into the ruts that she and Magi had carved so carefully the week before, in all the intricate, intertwining symbols that this God liked so well. The hem of her white robe was absolutely soaked in blood that was slowly seeping upwards, weighing down the thick fabric. Her sleeves were in the same gory state, and the metallic stench settled heavily in her nostrils, but all this she ignored. A stream of oil was poured into the ring outside the sacrifice, and at a word from Magi,

it turned into a flaming inferno, a sheild from whatever misguided priest stupid enough to try to stop them now.

Arla let a smile crack the corners of her lips as he turned his back on her, facing the center of the ring where the small pyramid of crystal had been placed. As he began to call upon the God, a chill went down her spine.

They were so very close. So very close to obtaining the key.

Magi had spent this last year completing her research with her. Figuring out which of the great rulers of the magics to call upon, to ask for the key to the doors of knowledge. Working out the right means of sacrifice, for the gods were not known to smile upon mistakes.

He offered her access to knowledge that had stayed beyond even her grasp, and she ate it up greedily, her brillant mind producing the answers he could not obtain. In turn, he offered her the use of magic she did not have. In culmination, they had come to this point, this heady moment when it seemed they had finally succeded, as the magic began to seep out of the very air itself, concentrating above the tip of the tiny crystal.

The room began to heat, and sweat began to drip down her pale skin. Both the fire and the sorcery that Magi was calling upon created enough heat to make her want to shed her heavy garment. Instead, she moved to stand behind Magi, laying a hand on his shoulder for support, her other hand slipping inside her robe to support herself.

A roar like thunder, the sound of matter and energy compiling on itself to force open a door to both Heaven and Hell, almost made her want to stop this, before one of them made a fatal mistake. But as the form of the God took shape, her resolve steeled. They were too far along to turn back now.

With another crack of magic, the outline of the God became apparent to their human eyes.

Darkly, she felt the snake inside her mind coil and shake to life. Three decades of travelling, of planting false seeds and spinning false tales, of forging scrolls and fooling elders, were finally coming to fruition for her. It had taken as many to finally trick one of the great Magi into believing in her purpose, to fool one of them into helping her call on the greatest of all gods.

Another crack of thunder, and as the outline began to solidify, Arla seized her only chance. Before Magi could sense the treachery so well kept inside her mind, she had already driven the jeweled rapier that had been hidden inside her robes into his heart. Her eyes never left the form of the God. As Magi's chant ended with a sudden scream of rage and pain, the God continued to arise. Arla laughed with the sudden madness of her first victory and continued to thrust the great sword down through bone and organ, drenching herself and the rest of the circle with the blood of the king of sorcerers. He fell, the shock of her betrayal yet evident in his face.

Arla's task was not yet done. She had fought hard, and become an entirely different woman to reach this point, and she would die before she saw herself fail. Indeed, at this point, if she failed, she would most certainly fall before the God's anger.

She hesitated the few precious seconds as the magic continued its course, and the God was solid and real before her. The heat of the room was almost unbearable, and the sticky, scarlet liquid she was now covered in made it all the worse. It stung her eyes and filled her nose and mouth, but she dared not clean a single drop from the rapier or herself. It formed a lethal sheild and poison she would need.

The God began to open his eyes, and once again, her muscles burst into sudden action. Silently, she leapt, aiming the sword for his face.

She surprised herself by managing a single prayer in her mind before the blade struck, time slowing to the slowest crawl.

'Those who watch over us, be merciful in our fortune..."

He saw her coming, and had no time to defend himself. Indeed, he had no reason to think he should. A mortal could only call upon him; the ways he could die, in the sense that a God could die, were few.

His shock when the edge pierced his skull almost overcame the sudden, sharp pain. He was not lucky enough to die quickly from the blow. Lingering for a single moment, his presence scorned him for allowing his end in such a barbaric manner.

Arla almost didn't believe she had done it. Now drenched in the red blood of the most powerful of humans and the thick, violet blood of the ruler of the heavens, she almost missed her one chance to seize all the power of both.

Reaching down and snatching the crystal pyramid, she held it before his face, still skewered on her sword, and cracked it between her first, letting her blood join the lake of blood she had already split that hour. She said the incantation that trapped it all, giddy in the rush of white fire and lightning as their magic became her own. She let the shards of the broken crystal loose from her hand, and it rose and hovered above them. Streaks of magic and broken power rushed upwards into it and into her, lifting her out of the ankle-deep sea of red.

She began to scream as the pain took her, the unbelieveable agony. The sword was forgotten, and the dead God was released and then drawn in again by the magical vacuum. His body sank to into the red, the sword making an inaudible crack as it hit the floor, followed by his body.

Her every nerve ending felt attacked, felt like they

were searing and burning as the magic consumed her, and remade her. She screamed and screamed as she too died, and was reborn from the incredible fire.

Finally it was done. She fell to the stone floor, the crystal falling beside her. From the height they fell, both should have broken, but both remained whole.

The room had been cleansed wholly by the display of sheer, raw, forceful energy. The circle that had given birth to them was now an empty crater in the floor, a crater that now cradled them. No blood remained, not a bone nor a shred of fiber remained as evidence of the bloodshed and betrayal she had committed.

For a day, the door to the unholy room remained bolted and the woman inside remained deathly still. The only proof she was anything but dead was one perfect white hand, tightly enclosed around the shimmering crystal that now was perfectly round and pulsing with power to the exact rhythm of her heart.

As the moon began to rise on that second day, finally, Arla stirred. One dark eye opened, and blinked.

The next instant beheld her standing, naked and draped by hair that had been burnt silver-white by her power. Her laughter was an assault on the walls that had seen only silence since that final explosion. It was hysterical, peals and peals of mad laughter as she crooned over the crystal in her hands.

"I have done it, I have done it! And you, and you my lovely, my shining star of power, shall be my imperium crystal... my ginzuishou."

It continued to pulse at her, a beautiful violet hum that made her dizzy with glee.

00

"With the power that the ginzuishou lent her, Arla then cast the most powerful of enchantments, making herself and the newly made gem one with each other, so that only she or her children could ever use the power of the crystal. Anyone else daring enough to try would be instantly burnt to death by the sheer force of power the crystal would show them.

"She then turned her dark intentions to the world outside, and the Earth then knew a reign of complete terror unlike any it had been shown before..."

Mercury read the last lines of the first scroll with wide, unbelieving eyes. There was no record of anyone outside the royal Serenity family ever using the crystal, and before this, no one had ever been able to name even a theory of how it came to exist. Of course, records at that point in history were shakey and incomplete, but this was a incredible story.

Mercury eyed the hidden vault behind her, the second scroll lying innocently on the stone bottom.

If it were so incredible, who would ever go to such lengths to hide it so well?

00

End of 1/3 of David and Solomon 


End file.
